


redamancy

by vehlr, weatheredlaw



Series: logolepsy [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Children, Epistolary, F/M, Implied or Referenced Miscarriage, Married Couple, Married Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: redamancy(n.) a love returned in fullor: Time heals all wounds, or so they say. Varric and Cassandra negotiate married life.





	1. letter set 1

**Author's Note:**

> [looks up from book] Oh, hello. Didn't see you there.
> 
> We're _back._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: My love, once more we fall into old habits. You, in one place, myself traveling further and further away from you.
> 
> Varric: I love you, Cassandra, and I know that your work is important, and I know that I am important to you, just as you are to me.

 

My love, once more we fall into old habits. You, in one place, myself traveling further and further away from you. I will not lie and say I do not, as I always do, find it exciting to be writing to you again. Despite the distance and our respective duties that must be fulfilled, I am well. I am happy. I find there is little I can complain about.

Naturally, I’m quite sure the Exalted Council will find a way around that.

Dorian will be in attendance this time, however. I am looking forward to see him again, it has been some time since our wedding. I will be sure to pass on your regrets that you could not attend with me, but I will leave out the angry ranting and the less savory bits of our last squabble. Not because he doesn’t enjoy hearing about them (you _know_ he does), but because I am more pleased to have been able to have left you on good terms. Good enough, at least.

I know my travels frustrate you. I see it when I discuss it over breakfast or tea, I see it when I pack yet another bag, or arrange yet another carriage ride. I struggle with apologies. You know the work we must both do is vital to the success of Thedas as a whole. And you know that I cannot refuse a request from Most Holy. I write this so you might repeat it aloud to yourself, or perhaps have Bran dictate it for you. I am not interested in having this argument again. Though, with us, it is quite likely we will.

But, I do not write to pester you over short tempers or misunderstood directives. I write because I love you, and I am confident my trip will be brief. I need only meet with the council, then travel North to inspect the Seekers. Moira has been quite busy as of late. From what I understand, the place has become quite efficient and is beginning to look like a true home for my people. I could not be more please.

I will extend your pleasantries to Duke Cyril when I arrive. He will be most pleased to receive them.

Cassandra, my Seeker, my heart -

                It's strange, sometimes, to think back to a time when we weren't in love, but I feel like it gives me a great sense of perspective. The person I was back then, and the person you were… we'd never have been so honest about our true feelings, our genuine frustrations. So I'm glad that we're better now, and that we can talk properly about them. I love the ways in which you've changed me for the better.

                And I'm sorry - really, very sorry, for being a little shit every time you have to leave. I always regret it, and yet I will always be this selfish. I will always want you to stay, even though I know you can't.

                I'm trying, though. It was better this time, wasn't it? It felt better.

                ~~Duke Cyril can do one~~ How gracious you are, love of my life, to have thought of passing on my regards to the gentleman. You are quite the Game player these days. Glad to see I'm rubbing off on you.

                Though I know you will be back soon, writing this letter is remarkably nostalgic, so indulge me as I tell you of my days since you left. The Guild, as you know, have been giving me a lot more weight to throw around. But that does mean I actually have to _do_ more, which is frustrating when I'm supposed to be presenting our case for the Grand Tourney in a few weeks. It's been twenty years since Kirkwall was even considered to host, and the city could really do with the boost. Not to mention my own vested interests, of course…

                Which you already know. I'll stop now.

                Speaking of the city, there's word on the grapevine that something's… not right. I can't put it any other way, not yet. I've got eyes on the streets for now, but Aveline is back in a few days and I was hoping to give her a nice easy first week back. But something's bugging me, and I don't have enough information to solidify the thought any further, which is irksome.

                Bran says I need to worry less about the Guild’s demands and more about the city. I told him that's what I have a seneshal for. Not entirely sure his laugh was genuine, but he got on with things regardless.

                Ah, but enough of business, let's talk about _pleasure_ \- or, more accurately, when you'll be back. I'm not just asking for me, though. Mother Clarice wants to rearrange our conversation, and I'm thinking it'll go down a lot smoother if you were here with me. From the impression I got, it's a formality, but a necessary one.

                This is the part where I should write poetic words about how I'll be counting each second til you're in my arms again, but in all honesty I have no floral sentiment today, only the truth - I love you, Cassandra, and I know that your work is important, and I know that I am important to you, just as you are to me.

                I'll see you soon, sweetheart.

                Yours, longingly,

                -- V.

                P.S.: tell Sparkler the less savoury bits. He could use a diversion from the politics.

My love, I understand you have your own rather complicated network of spies and informants, but do let me know if you require any Inquisition agents. I am perfectly placed during the coming days to provide you with what you need, in that respect. The Inquisitor is supposed to make an appearance this time around, but I am not entirely sure if that will be possible. From what I understand, there’s been a great deal of movement in the Plains, and they’ve been quite busy.

Do try not to start a war or minor conflict while I am away. I know the Guild burdens you so, but try not to displace _all_ your duties onto Bran. One man can only take so much. You, of all people, should know that. And besides, matters such as the Grand Tourney are largely your responsibility. I know you have a great deal riding on the selection, but try to remember the history of the event. Kirkwall still maintains a...certain reputation among those outside the Marches. While I, of course, would be thrilled to see it return, I do not want you too terribly disappointed.

Now, if you are quite certain there is something... _amuck_ , I suppose, then you should deal with this disturbance at once. I love you, so very much, but I am not in a terribly great position to come running to your side should you find yourself on the end of a poison arrow once more. But, of course, I can kid no one. This entire Council knows I would drop everything to be with you. That is, in a way, one of the more troubling issues I need to deal with during the coming days.

Apparently Arl Teagan finds me unfit for duty, and his finds the Seekers a bit of a waste, despite the number of former Templars who have joined, and Cullen’s recommendations that he use them in his security detail. But, Teagan cannot be expected to trust anyone, really, and he is already quite sour about the Inquisition’s continued existence.

I am in no mood to deal with these men.

As for our meeting with Mother Clarice, I am certain you are capable of taking care of things for us both. I have very little desire to deal with this issue currently. You know my feelings on the matter.

Cassandra, fiery heart and firm hands -

                Would an assassination attempt convince Teagan? I can have it arranged, and you can heroically save his life and remind him why the Seekers are a good investment? No? Alright, not one of my finer plans. Best just to sweep past his ignorance in your usual regal fashion.

                As for dropping everything to help me, please don’t. Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, I’m thankful that you would, but I don't plan on letting anyone lay a finger on me. Besides, your work is important, no matter what any of the Ponces say. As much as I want you at home, I’d feel bad for taking you away from it.

                I’ll wait til you get back to rearrange the meeting. It’s important to us, we should both be there.

                As for the unsettling feeling, the most that’s come out of it is a spate of vandalism, it seems. Some nonsense about the old days, it’ll pass. Bran is heading up the cleanup task force, for now. My people are keeping an eye on the perpetrators. It’s not what I expected, but if this is the worst of it, I’ll take it.

                The plans for the presentation are firmly in hand, don’t you worry. And I know Kirkwall’s reputation is hardly as sterling as, oh let’s say, Starkhaven. But that doesn’t mean we can’t rise to the occasion.

                That is, after all, my speciality.

                Hopefully you won’t have too much stress from old Teagan, and you can escape to the mountains in short order. I know you miss the air, and Moira.

                Yours, keeping busy,

                -- V.

Arl Teagan’s complaints are largely posturing. For a man so very Ferelden, he does quite the excellent imitation of a peacock, considering he sits only five feet away from the Duke. Most Holy was polite enough to listen to his complaints regarding the Seekers, but when reminded quite firmly that, should they be dissolved, then a great number of Ferelden soldiers would be required to police Redcliffe, he relaxed. Better, I suppose, to throw a dozen former Templars at a problem and call it solved before sacrificing a few of his own. Not that there will be any need for sacrifice. All things considered, the world feels quite...safe. Which, of course, is not a feeling that can be trusted.

No Inquisitor this time, I’m afraid, but our former Commander is making an appearance at the end of the week with a few budgetary concerns on behalf of Josephine. It will be good to see Cullen again. I find myself missing the time at Skyhold. ~~I miss war~~

If vandalism is the worst of your problems so far, perhaps you should keep your eyes open a bit wider. It seems like such a safe act. Something easy, hardly traceable. You and I know perfectly well how easy it is for a problem such as this to snowball into something quite larger. But, perhaps that is just the Right Hand in me, still. Looking for problems where there are none. I’m sure Bran enjoys his time away from the Keep.

As far as our meeting goes, do not delay on my behalf, Varric. ~~I have no desire to~~   ~~I am tired of talking about~~   ~~If you would just leave it~~

Please remember to eat.

Cassandra, light of my life -

                ~~Are you really okay? I know you said~~

                I’m glad Most Holy Nightingale put that idiot in his place. She always had a way with being stern without being harsh. I never really considered it before, but from all your stories about her… she hasn’t changed, in the way she treats people. That’s comforting - the highest power granted to her by divine right, and she’s still the same old Nightingale.

                Tell Curly he still owes me five gold. He doesn’t, but I like to keep him on his toes. Not that I need to, of course - Ruffles can manage that without batting an eyelid.

                I miss Skyhold, too. Not so much the place, or the fighting, but the people. We had good people around us back then, the kind of people who didn’t take my shit and always had a drink ready for you. I miss having that comfort - that strange sense of unity that comes from taking the rest of the world head-on. I had it here, a lifetime ago, but with Hawke gone and everyone else scattered to the winds… well, I like Bran, but it’s not the same.

                We’re getting old, Seeker. Too much reverie.

                Still, they’re never too far away, our friends. I got a letter from Sparkler just this morning, and one of my long-anticipated updates from the Chargers - should provide me with some good material for a future book project. That is, if I ever have the time to actually read the damned things.

                Davri Sr. has asked me to take care of the accounts for the Guild’s upcoming takeover of a few human-run businesses - small fry at the moment, according to him, but the investment could prove to benefit us all at least three-fold by next year. A nice little earner just in time for the anniversary of Daisy’s community breaking ground, maybe I can finally make good on my promise to build her a house with more than four rooms - not that she’d use it, of course, she’d just give it to a bigger family. Still, the thought’s there.

                Anyway, duty calls as ever. I have eaten today, don’t worry - Bran made sure of it. ~~Hopefully you’ll be on the road again soon~~ ~~You probably won’t be in the mountains long, right~~ Stay safe, okay? Just because there’s peace, doesn’t mean we should throw caution out the window just yet.

                Yours, fed and watered,

                -- V.

I did not expect Josephine to arrive alongside Cullen, but I suppose it may be part of their continued charade. As if, in Dorian’s words, “no one noticed him making _doe eyes_ at her during the first Exalted Council.” I will not press the matter. As one once engaged in a quiet romance, I still find the notion quite romantic. Regardless, it is good to see the Ambassador as well. Josephine looks lovely in spring garb, which is apparently what she was wearing. Maker knows I know not the difference.

Cullen has told me to remind you that _you_ owe him fifty gold. He would not tell me why.

I am still here at Halamshiral as I write this, however. The Council will be finished after this coming weekend, but Most Holy has requested my continued presence for a short while. I have little idea what she needs me for, but I am, as always, happy to serve. She currently is without a Right Hand. Perhaps a vetting process is in order. ~~What I would not give to~~

It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. ~~why do i have these thoughts, i don’t~~

Send my regards to Merrill, though you and I both know that she would get lost in a house with more than four rooms. It is hardly necessary, Varric.

Careful in your dealings, my love. If I have learned anything from you, it is that an army is oftentimes not nearly as frightening as one man, or dwarf, with the right connections. You know my feelings on the Guild. You know I don’t trust them.

You did not respond to my request regarding our meeting with the Mother in your last letter. I will take your silence as resignation. Have the meeting without me, please. I insist. It would appear I will not be returning as soon as we had hoped. Certainly not as long as my time in Nevarra, ideally. But, still. Some time.

I am glad you are taking care of yourself, at least. I hope you do not worry too much over me. I am well aware of my holdings. I know what I must return to. I have no idea to waste away, as you shouldn’t either. You are beholden to your city, and your wife. A biscuit every so often is not a meal. Besides, it would not do when you apply for the Grand Tourney for the Viscount of Kirkwall to be a figurative bean pole. How goes that, my love? I should like to see that, I think.

I received word from Lady Seeker Moira this morning. Things are going well. She still requests my presence as well, but there are some rather private matters she wishes to discuss in person. She believes letters are rather impersonal. I do not have the heart to disagree with her.

Cassandra, to whom I am utterly beholden -

                Are they still pretending they’re not together? That’s adorable, honestly. Were we ever that cloying? Probably. I mean, we thought we were real clever with our letters and our furtive glances, but _everyone_ knew! Love changes you, and everyone can see it.

                I’m glad they’re making time for each other, though. Ruffles works ridiculously hard, and Curly too. It’s good to see they’re managing.

                Curly’s full of shit. I miss him. I know he’ll never come back to Kirkwall, but I hope you told him about the better parts of the city. I’m doing the best I can.

                You have to stay longer? Damn, really? That’s… well, I know you like to help Most Holy Nightingale out, so I guess it’s not so terrible. You two are a formidable force, it’s no wonder she would ask for your help above anyone else’s.

                The Grand Tourney plans are going just fine. I’ve scouted out the delegation committee and figured out a plan of attack - all charm, of course, but it never hurts to be prepared. I’m a dab hand at flattery, after all. These guys will be pushovers. Aveline suggested - in her usual way - that I should do the expected ‘proper’ business of showing them how our city would improve the Grand Tourney. I will, of course, but I know how people work. I know what they’re going to respond to, and I’m ready.

                Regarding the meeting… look, I will wait for you. This matters, right? It’s our next step, and I don’t want to take it without you. But you’re ~~avoiding talking about~~ busy, and I know work comes first. It’s fine, sweetheart.

                ~~Are we okay? I feel like you’re~~

                ~~I was thinking, when you get back, maybe we could~~

                The Guild is well in hand, for once. Don’t worry, our guards are still doubled. I may be a fool for you, but I’m no fool when it comes to these idiots. Davri Sr. is still as sharp as he ever was, I’m not about to let my guard slip around him. Still, it’s good that he put me at the front of this particular effort. Despite their desire for financial gain, a lot of the other more prominent members of our group are still hideously behind the times when it comes to dealing with humans instead of our own kind.

                I hope Most Holy Nightingale doesn’t work you too hard. I miss you, Seeker. Even when I’m busy, I miss you. But I promised I wouldn’t get too hung up on your absence, so I’ll just think of all the wonderful things we have waiting for us when you return.

                Yours, always,

                -- V.

[heavily stricken]

~~_I don’t know why you insist on taking_ ~~ ~~_ steps _ ~~ ~~_or pushing this issue at all I have told you a hundred and a thousand times that I do not_ ~~ ~~_ want  _ ~~ ~~_to do this right now I am not interested in meeting with anyone it is none of their business and frankly it is swiftly becoming none of yours_ ~~

Do as you please regarding the meeting. It is currently not my concern.

And, yes, Cullen has continued to insist that nothing is happening between the two of them, though I caught him looking quite fondly over a letter with an Inquisition seal on the envelope just this morning. And he did inquire how difficult it was for us to be apart those few years and still remain so dedicated to one another.

Hard work, I told him. Patience. And smutty literature, of course. He went a rather unique shade of pink.

Trust me when I say I would certainly rather be on the road by now, but there are a great many things to deal with here. I am not interviewing Right Hands for Most Holy, but rather planning something somewhat _grand_. I cannot say for certain here, Varric, but know that it is important. I believe you might even get some enjoyment out of it.

I received word from the Iron Bull this morning that he would be passing through Kirkwall. He asked me to pass the information on to you because he believed you’d remember it best if it came from my own hand. So I am tell you - look out for Bull and his Chargers, sometime within the next week or so. Just for a day. He claims to have important information to pass onto you, but could not go into detail what it was.

I'm sorry to be away. I wish things were different. I wish a great many things were different. Perhaps things I cannot fit into a single letter. I hope you understand.

_[crossed out, unsent]_

~~Not your concern? Our future is~~ ~~_not your concern?_ ~~ ~~What is~~

~~Why can’t you just~~

~~I~~ ~~ don’t ~~ ~~understand, that’s the problem~~

_[fresh vellum]_

Cassandra, dearheart -

                I finally got around to reading Sparkler’s letter, after one from Mae arrived. As usual, they both paint a very different picture of the same story. It was a riveting diversion from my work, and I look forward to being able to regale you with a glorious reading of it. Suffice to say, I’ll never look at pomegranates in the same way. It’s a shame I didn’t get to it sooner, I would have asked you to grill him on the whole affair.

                As promised, the Chargers came and went - it was good to see Tiny, though he remains tight-lipped as ever about his current employer. Still, there was some… interesting information. I’m not sure what to make of it, in all honesty. If it were anyone else, I’d call bullshit, but he’s never steered me in the wrong direction before.

                Still… I don’t know. If he’s right, I’d be very surprised. I know my city, after all. I’ll pass it on to Bran, maybe, get his opinion.

                In the meantime, Daisy wants me to pass on her love - oh, by the by, Daisy and Tiny in the same room? Fascinating to watch - and Aveline says don’t rush back on our account. I think Bran is planning a surprise for you, every time I mention your name he makes the strangest noise in the back of his throat. So be prepared for that, I guess.

                Our sermon this week was on the virtues of patience. It seems to be something in the air, I guess. Mother Clarice expressed her sadness at your absence, though there was more than a little bead of envy when I mentioned who you were directly serving.

                I guess I should look forward to Most Holy Nightingale’s plans with excitement, if you think that I’ll enjoy them. I’m more interested in when they’ll be over, though. I do miss my wife something fierce, after all. Still, you are a very good keeper of secrets, and my interest is piqued. I hope the planning is keeping you happy, and that things run smoothly for you. I know from experience that it’s seldom the case, but here’s hoping.

                I love you, Seeker. I love you so much. ~~Why~~

                Yours,

                -- V.

  
Varric,

All members of the council have finally departed. I have told Cullen he is always welcome in _your_ Kirkwall, but he went a rather unappealing shade of green this time, so I did not press the matter. Dorian is gone as well.

Halamshiral is...dull, when one is on their own. As I am today. Most Holy travels while I makes a few arrangements, though I am not suited to planning things. I should write to Josephine, garner her opinion on the matter.

Soon I will depart for the Hunterhorn Mountains. I am looking forward to training, possibly a few rounds with Moira and the others. It will be a relief. It has been some time since I wielded a sword with any sort of intent.

This letter is short, as my free time has been largely monopolized. I hope the lead from Bull helps you. I will inform you of my arrival when I know better about when I should return.

_[unsent]_

Sparkler wrote again.

You didn't even need to be there.

What the _fuck_ , Cassandra?

 


	2. interlude: listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vehlr here. It's good to be back. Hope you're enjoying it so far.

Halamshiral is brisk, in the early morning air. It had not been an easy ride, pushing through the darkness as they had, but he is here and that is what matters.

Varric is _tired_ , which is probably less of a statement and more of a lifestyle these days.

Despite himself, he walks through the gardens where they had danced. It should be heartwarming, a chance to revel in sweet reverie, but right now he cannot feel much at all. He just wants answers, answers to a question he never thought he would have to ask. It is here that he finds her, facing off against a practice dummy.

Cassandra is beautiful at rest, those brief moments between sword strikes when her body relaxes just enough to set up the next move. He has always loved the way she is in complete control.

How apt, he thinks, that he should think it even now.

She is not expecting him, and so Varric manages to get within ten feet before she realises she is not alone. It is almost worth it for the look of complete surprise on her face.

“Varric? What are you doing here?”

He wants to hold her, to sweep her off her feet and revel in the annoyed yet happy noises that would doubtless spill from her lips… but he does neither of these things. Instead, he offers out the letter - the letter from Sparkler, the letter that had been as sharp and annoyed as he felt now, the letter that told him to _just talk to her, for crying out loud, you ridiculous pair_. 

_This can be easily remedied_ , he had written, _if only you could bloody listen._

She looks up, finally, impassive as she hands him the letter back.

“You are angry.”

“Yeah. You lied to me.”

“I did not _lie_. I never said my presence here was _required_ , I simply told you that I was coming here -”

“Oh, come on, really?” Varric snorts as she folds her arms. “You're not getting off on a fucking _technicality_. Don't bullshit a bullshitter.”

“ _Varric_.”

“Why? That's all I want to know. Why did you lie to me?”

Her nostrils flare. “It was not a lie -”

“Why?”

“I needed breathing room. I have… things to consider. I needed a moment to -”

He stares up at her. “Are you - are you going to divorce me?”

“Do not be ridiculous -”

“It’s hardly that when you’re being evasive! We’ve been through so much. Why are you pushing away from me?”

“It is not so -”

“You ran away from me!”

“I left to gain some clarity. Every conversation we have is about adopting a child, and I -”

“Wait, wait. Are you saying you don’t want to -”

“ _Stop_. Just… stop, and _listen_ to me for a moment.” She sighs, sharp. “I do not mean that I never want to welcome a child into our lives. I am just not ready _right now._ ”

“Cassandra -”

“We had hope, did we not? We had such hope. And I…” Her hand rises for a moment, covering her abdomen, and Varric feels a sting in his heart. “It is hard. I do not think my heart will ever forget. How could it? I had life, a life that we made, growing within me. And then... I did not.”

He swallows, watching her as she closes her eyes for a moment. It had been hard on him, accepting the hurt of being left behind by someone he had not even had the chance to meet, and he knew of course that it had been hard on her too - of course it had, of course he understood that. But for the first time he fancies that his impossibly strong wife has been far better at lying about her feelings than he could ever have given her credit for.

“You speak of what we _will_ have, but I just want to forget - just for a moment. I am tired of thinking about what we have lost. I am tired of remembering that I could not - that I lost -”

Her voice is quiet, and Varric aches for her. He reaches out, hands wrapping around hers. 

“Hey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just… I just wanted us to be happy. I wanted us to start our family.”

“I am not ready. I do not know _when_ I will be ready. I am certainly not in a state to entertain the Revered Mother’s choices - as if an ideal child can be _procured_ by someone else for us -”

“You never said - if you'd just _talked_ to me -”

“Did you ever consider that I could not?” she rasps. “That I do not have the words, nor the inclination?”

“Cassandra, you can _always_ talk to me. What did I do to convince you otherwise?”

“It is not - Varric, it is not about _you_. For once, this is not about you.” She lets out a long exhale, shoulders shuddering with the effort as she pulls away from him. “It is me - _my_ feelings, _my_ pain, my - _my_ failing. It is something I know you can never truly understand, and it is something I feel like I may never shake, though I know objectively that cannot be true.”

He swallows, watching her for a long moment. This broken honesty - albeit later than it could have been - was heart-wrenching to watch, words pulled from her lips with halting determination. 

He has failed her, in so many ways.

“What do you need?”

“I need time,” she says softly. “Time, and space, to deal with this in my own way. That is why I misled you.”

“You _lied_ ,” he murmurs, before taking her hand in his. “But I can’t stop you. Just… stay safe, alright?”

“Varric -”

“I love you.”

And what else, thinks, Varric, was there to say?

Kirkwall is dark when he gets back, a few hours too early to truly call it morning but still the wrong side of the moon bells. 

Perhaps, he thinks in the hours of travelling, when sleep eludes him and the road is quiet, this feeling of guilt and sorrow is a penance. Perhaps he has been too complacent, too free and easy. He is slipping into old ways, forgetting to embrace the ways in which his wife had changed him in favour of an easy life -

_This is not about you,_ her voice reminds him

Varric aches, a bone-deep pain that tugs at his frame as he awkwardly steps out of the carriage.

Aveline looks pale.

“Where in all the Maker’s bloody lands _were_ you?”

“Andraste’s ass, I told Bran yesterday - what’s gotten up your skirts?”

“Your friend’s tipoff bore fruit.”

“Tiny’s? What do you mean?”

“We found a weapon. In a construction site, hidden well. A weapon that could have taken out blocks.”

He stares up at her. “What?”

“Come on.” She tugs his elbow, leading him in. “Reports say it's a crude device, a bunch of gas canisters lashed together with something in place that could be a detonator. I don't have a full report just yet, this happened hours ago.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Homegrown terrorism, with gas canisters. I can’t believe it. What kind of gas?” His legs throb as they rush down the corridors of the Keep, but Varric’s mind can only think of the crisis that they had so narrowly avoided.

“Remember the fanatics of the Qun, years ago?”

“Shit.”

“Except they’ve had time to perfect it, Varric. So much time. It’s honestly lucky we had Guardsman Cavin out there -”

“Wait, you mean -”

But before he can ask, a fist connects with his jaw with a loud smack, and Varric reels as his vision blurs. 

He knows how to take a hit in most situations - after decades of bar fights, a few years in civil service could not shake such instincts - but as he looks up blearily at the face of Bran, he realises he never could have seen that one coming.

“What the fuck -”

“My son was out there!” yells Bran, inches from his face. “My _son_ , Varric!”

“Bran - calm down, he’s alright -”

Despite Aveline’s words, Bran does not step back. “He could have _died!_ Hundreds could have died! And where the fuck were you? Prancing around the bloody country, putting yourself before the thousands of people you’re supposed to be serving -”

“We thought it was a hoax! You _agreed_ with me -”

“ _I_ never got a chance to get a bloody word in edgeways!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Varric watches Aveline silently leave the room, and he steps back from Bran, rubbing his jaw. “Nobody’s hurt?” he asks finally.

“No. The Guard were, as ever, more than up to the task. Unlike you.”

“Look, I know I -”

“No, Varric, you _don’t_ know. And that’s the problem.” Bran begins to pace, stopping to punctuate his tirade with glares that cut Varric to the quick. “I am so _tired_ of you not taking your bloody responsibilities seriously. I am sorry for whatever you and the Lady Cassandra are going through, I _really_ am, but you’re the fucking Viscount. Not the sodding author, not the Merchant Guild’s mother. The _Viscount._ ”

“I -”

“The title is a _charge_ , not a reward for good behaviour. It was never offered to you as a prize, but as a question - would you be a man who could step up and serve these people, and be who they need you to be? And I really thought, for a long time, that you were that man. I _really_ did. I’m proud of the things we accomplished together, all the good we did. But you made the office all about you, because that’s what you _do_.” 

A lurch hits Varric’s stomach, a memory of a man he used to be. He opens his mouth to ask Bran to stop, but nothing comes out - there is no defence against the truth.

“You threw our name into the ring for the Grand Tourney to be the man who brought back Kirkwall’s reputation, without even asking the city if it _wanted_ that. You think you know this city, you think it’s your blood and soul, but you have no idea what the people really think - of you, of what you do, of the price of bloody grain! You need to start listening, Varric. _Really_ listening. This isn’t _your_ Kirkwall, not anymore.”

And, with his piece seemingly done, Bran turns on his heel and storms out, the doors clattering against the walls in his wake.

Varric stares at the space where his best friend had been, a heavy weight settling in on his shoulders as he realises a lot in a very short space of time.

_Oh._

He sinks to the floor soundlessly.

_Shit._


	3. interlude: silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra breathes.
> 
> And she goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why this took me 8 million years. we fucking evolved as a species in the time it took me to get this wrong. you should be able to whiz right through it with your brand new, evolved brain. -w.l.

She knows – it isn't fair. That does not escape her as she packs her bag, yet another trip in her sights. She must, in truth this time, return to the mountains, to meet with Seeker Moira, to see how things are. And the duty she has clung to, the rapid-fire decision making of her youth and even now in her middle years – it comes to her more easily than she can say. Cassandra is warm with shame, since Varric's departure, but her hands do not tremble, and she does not think she can change her mind. She must go.

“On your way again, I take it?” Cassandra looks up, finds Cullen leaning against the doorway to her quarters. “Do you actually need to be there this time?”

“Very funny.”

“Oh, come now. Dorian couldn't resist spilling a bit of your drama. It's amusing that he _tattled._ ”

“I suppose it was necessary.”

Cullen snorts. “Was it? Varric seemed put out.”

“I did not ask him to come here. He did of his own volition.” Cassandra checks her bag again. “Did you need something, Commander?”

Cullen shakes his head. “No. I only came to with you good luck on your journey. And...that you find your way back. To what you were feeling before. I don't know what happened, and I won't ask. I only want to see a friend of mine be happy.” He gives her a quick smile. “That's all.”

Silence hangs between them. Cassandra grips her satchel in one hand, her cloak in the other while her face _burns._ Does she have the look of a woman fleeing? Is she that transparent? It hardly matters now. Cassandra nods and almost lurches forward, as if to gain enough momentum to escape Cullen before he can say another word.

He touches her, though, briefly. A hand to her arm. Gentle enough she could keep going, but sincere enough to give her pause. She stops, turning to look at him.

“Don't...keep to yourself too long,” he says, before dropping his hand.

Cassandra breathes.

And she goes.

 

* * *

 

_After services, Varric lingers to talk to a handful of people, shake hands and get to know names and faces. Part of the reason they attend is to connect, though lately Cassandra finds she has less and less time and patience for it._

“ _My lady.”_

_Cassandra turns, and the Revered Mother stands before her, bowing her head. She returns the gesture._

“ _Mother Clarice.”_

“ _I thought we might take a walk,” the older woman says, and extends a hand toward the door leading to the chantry gardens. Cassandra tries to catch Varric's eye, but he is deep in conversation, so she follows. “I'm glad to see you've settled into Kirkwall.”_

_Cassandra nods. “It has been some time, now.”_

“ _It is a hard city to love. But you seem to have taken to it.” The Mother smiles. “It deserves that love, you know. Been through a great deal. A lot of pain, so much loss.” They stop by the roses. “I'm to understand you...know the feeling.”_

_Cassandra feels the color drain from her face. Instantly, she looks for Varric, but he is completely out of her line of sight, so she is left alone, trapped between the truth and someone who knows it. “...I–”_

“ _You need not explain yourself, dear. It was the Viscount who told me. He'd...wanted to do something special. But, since the child was...is lost. Well...”_

“ _Will you excuse me?” Cassandra says. “I must fetch my husband. His seneschal will be looking for him.”_

“ _Oh. Oh of course. I am sorry if I offended, my lady, I–”_

_Cassandra strides out of the garden, and straight to Varric, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. “Husband.”_

_He turns to her, mid-story. Her expression must be rather devastating, because his own falters, and he excuses himself from the small crowd gathered. “Ah, another time, then. It's all in the book, like I said. And Fawley, you let me know about that crop yield, you understand?”_

“ _Sure thing, ser!”_

_She is silent on the ride back to the keep. Silent as they ascend the stairs, and Varric excuses the staff for the rest of the day. Silent until the doors to their rooms are shut and latched._

_She turns to him, and this time, she must look_ wild.

“ _You_ told _her! You told that woman our...our...you–” Cassandra is livid. She turns, hovering over her vanity, plain as ever save for a bit of pigment and box of pins. She grasps it in her hands, flinging it to the side without thought. The pins scatter. “How_ dare _you?” she says, and_ breathes.

“ _Cassandra. It was supposed to be a gift. For you.”_

“ _I did not ask for that.”_

_He huffs. “You've hardly asked for anything. It's impossible these days to tell what you want.”_

“ _That is not an excuse,” she snaps. “I will not apologize for any hesitance to celebrate.”_

“ _No,_ you'd _rather live in constant mourning, blaming yourself,” he argues. “You'll take any excuse to be away from me, don't think I've noticed.”_

“ _Stop making this about you.”_

 _He reaches for her arm. “Stop_ avoiding _me.”_

_Cassandra wrenches from his grasp, staring. The space between them has only grown larger and larger these past weeks. She cannot think of anything clever to say, or anything truer. He sees through her, as he always does – of course she is avoiding him._

_How could she not?_

“ _You should not have told her,” she says, instead of the truth._

_That she cannot stop seeing his face and the way it fell, after the last._

_That she cannot stop remembering his kisses, after the second month had passed._

_That she cannot stop thinking about the spaces she'd cleared in her heart, for each of them._

_(And she was never a woman defined by a desire for family, or domesticity, but she cannot deny the joy she felt, knowing she might have been the dwelling, if only for a short time, for a creature born of the most wonderful love she has ever known._

_That is what hurts the most.)_

“ _I'm sorry,” he says. “Cassandra, I only–”_

“ _You meant well,” she says, a poor attempt to mollify, and kisses his forehead. “Excuse me, my love. I have letters to write.”_

 

* * *

 

She rides Madame, refusing a carriage. It would only slow her journey, and she finds solace in the slight discomfort of the ride. There is something to be said for riding your own horse, to a destination of your own choosing, with only your own thoughts for company.

And she has _missed_ the Seekers.

There is no regret in her decision not to lead them. She will always be a Seeker, it is why she must return, though the obligation feels more necessary than it likely is. Moira is an excellent leader, and she is hardly in need of Cassandra's guidance. Still, it feels good to be among them. She pushes herself further, giving Madame a short rest in the evening, then continuing on.

There are bandits to contend with, only once. It feels good to threaten, to make herself larger and draw her blade. Perhaps it is wrong, so _very_ wrong, but Cassandra thinks, not for the first time – _she misses war._

It is nearly evening when she finally arrives. Seeker Moira seems to have already guess when she would, standing ramrod straight outside the gates to their grounds, gesturing for a young man to take Cassandra's horse.

“She returns,” Moira says dryly, but the two embrace. “I am glad you're here.”

“As am I.” Cassandra draws down the hood of her cloak. “You have new structures.”

“We get new recruits pretty steadily. Not a great deal, but we realized a few months ago we were getting a bit cramped.” She looks around the encampment proudly. “We've done well.”

“You have.”

Moira smiles. “Let's have dinner,” she says. “There's someone I'd like you to meet.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Cassandra.”_

“ _Yes, Varric.”_

“ _I am...sorry. I know what you wanted–”_

_She sets down her book, turning to look at him. Truthfully she cannot stay mad. It is Varric – whatever he does, he does with good intentions. Cassandra knows this. It is why she loves him._

“ _I know,” she says, and reaches out to take his hand._

_Varric nods. “You know...we could always look into something else.” He strokes her knuckles. “The chantry sponsors adoptions all the time. We could look into it.”_

“ _Perhaps later, my love.”_

“ _Mother Clarice suggested it. Said it might...might make us feel better.”_

_Cassandra looks at the place where their hands are clasped._

_He is hers. And he does nothing without good intention._

“ _Of course,” she says, and lifts his hand to her lips. “I'm sure it would.”_

 

* * *

 

Cassandra is staring, looking down into a makeshift crib, watching an infant stir awake.

“Isn't she lovely?” Moira reaches down and lifts her up. “There was a young woman that wanted to join, after she'd given birth. Her name was Elodie. Beautiful, she was.” Moira touches the girl's nose. “She didn't make it. It was...hard. To watch.”

“I'm...I'm sure.”

“We've had this little one just over a week now. It's been an experience, but she can't stay here with us anymore. Not for much longer, anyway.” Moira looks up at Cassandra. “She needs a mother. A _proper_ mother. Someone who has the heart and the will for it. Someone like you.”

Cassandra blinks. Swallows thickly.

The girl is beautiful. Curious and quiet in Moira's arms.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs, and bolts from them both.

 

* * *

 

“ _...No,” she says quietly._

_His lips linger at her neck._

“ _Alright,” he murmurs. His hand reaches up to touch the blunt ends of her hair, freshly cut this morning. Cassandra feels like a stranger in their own bed. She cannot remember the last time he touched her, but her body reels from it. Varric leaves one last kiss on her shoulder, the only part of her bared to the moonlight. “I love you,” he says._

_Cassandra closes her eyes, reaches to give his hand a gentle squeeze._

“ _I know.”_

 

* * *

 

“You don't have to tell me what's happened,” Moira says quietly. She settles onto the stone steps leading away from her quarters where Cassandra has planted herself, perhaps for good. She wants to be the vine that has dug itself into the dirt and is growing up the side of the sturdy oak casting shadows over them both.

“It is nothing.” Moira snorts. Cassandra sighs. “I lied to Varric about the Exalted Council. There was no reason for me to be there. I...needed space.”

“Ah. Husband troubles.”

“They are not his fault, not intentionally. He is trying his best, and I am being...difficult. Most of this is my own doing. I put myself in this predicament.” She looks at the infant in Moira's arms. “I never wanted children, when I was younger. I never had the desire. I hardly had the desire to marry, either, but.” She shrugs and Moira laughs. “Varric and I assumed it would be impossible. It turns out, it was not.” Cassandra reaches out and brushes the child's impossibly small hand with her finger. “Well, it did not appear that away, at least. Obviously, it did not pan out.”

Moira nods. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Enough people have said it to last me a lifetime. I needed to be away from it.” She looks away. “The Revered Mother has put aside different...profiles. Of children. For us to consider adopting. I am not opposed to the process, but I do not like the chantry's particular methods. I have never been controlled. I do not expect it to begin now.” She looks back at the child. “Let me see her.”

Moira happily hands her over. “Isn't she beautiful?”

“She certainly is.” Cassandra cradles the girl in her arms, watching her eyes open slowly, taking in the world. “Was her mother this freckled?”

“No.”

Cassandra smiles. “Varric will enjoy that, I think.”

“So you'll take her.”

She nods, and holds the girl closer. “Yes. I will.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, all Varric letters and one-shots are courtesy of vehlr, all Cassandra material courtesy weatheredlaw. [ _smooch_ ]


End file.
